


Toxic

by aaabattery



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Dream Sex, F/M, Handcuffs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn with character development, its all in cats head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 10:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11804469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaabattery/pseuds/aaabattery
Summary: Every Sherlock needs his Irene -- whether it’s healthy or not is horrendously easy to determine. And no, it’s not healthy at all, but the mind is a strange place and neither know this as well as they do. Neither knows each other as good as the other does. Spencer is under her skin and they both know it.[ THIS IS SMUT. FEATURING SPENCER REID & CAT ADAMS. IT IS MILDLY DUBIOUS. THIS IS NOT AT ALL A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP & IT IS MAYBE A TAD BIT DARK IN PLACES. MORE WARNINGS INSIDE. ]





	Toxic

**Author's Note:**

> Cat & Spencer had -- something (mostly owing to Matthew & Aubrey being pretty amazing & having great chemistry?? )... Either way, this fanfiction is not condoning ANYTHING that happened. It is purely written for fun. I do not condone murder or gaslighting or -- pretty much anything else mentioned here. (Besides, it’s all in her head). Most of it is Cat’s point of view -- being it is her dream.
> 
> Also, fair fact & note that I am an asexual, aromantic virgin so a lot of this comes from research & how to guides...and porn.

“Hello,  _ Spency _ .” Cat’s dark eyes rake over the taller, lanky male. There’s a sort of dark anger in his eyes. Not hate. He can’t  _ hate  _ her. He  _ doesn’t  _ hate her. He never could. He crosses his arms, still wearing that dark suit jacket. It makes him look so handsome -- well tailored, but in a way he still looks a bit like a  _ child _ , playing with the grown ups clothes. “Didn’t think I would see you here again…” Her voice is a purr as she moves closer to him. The gown drags behind her. Buttery and silky black, hugging her curves that she  _ knows _ he noticed. Even if he refused to touch her -- hold her like she wanted him to, he knew she noticed. He wasn’t blind. Just a genius.

Even if he would never admit it, he found her attractive. But by the end of the night he would.

He frowns at her, a flash of annoyance -- just a flash. “I suppose neither of us expected to be here.” His voice is dry, a bit impatient. He’s bored already -- wanting to do something. Solve something. Her little Sherlock Holmes. She’d like to fancy herself Moriarty, but there is a difference a sensuality she has over him that no one else will ever have. Not his dead girlfriend and not the blonde agent who made goo-goo eyes at him.

Her lips curl into a pout, brown eyes dark and lusty and she moves into his space. Her hands trail to rest on his chest. He doesn’t move -- doesn't flinch.  _ Good boy. _ She congratulates him, silently. It’s a game to them. A dance. 

_ Step into my parlor said the spider to the fly.  _ The children’s tales words echo in her brain.

His words break her out of it,  “Yet here we are.” His voice has a note of  _ something _ and she finds it so --  **_enticing_ ** . She shivers, pressing closer to him. Her long fingers curl around the tie. It was always crooked, so it doesn't matter if she tugs it a bit, forcibly pulling his face closer to hers.

“You’re not happy to see me.” There’s a sort of childish whine, a pout on blood red lips. ”It’s such a shame. I had a new  _ game  _ for us to play and everything--” Her hand creep up to his shoulders, arms looping around his neck, lightly and she smirks. “Dance with me, Spency -- I know you liked it before. Getting to  _ touch  _ me. You didn’t want Blondie or the rest to know...but I knew.” She whispers the words deep and thick and hot into his ear. Sensual, that is what she is going for. He shivers a bit, and his eyes, slip closed for a second, seemingly steadying himself. Or resisting the urge to hit her. She didn’t mind either option.

The man looked around, but Spencer’s large hands slipped to land above her waist. Always a  _ gentleman _ . It’s cute, if kind of  **_pathetic_ ** . She reaches a hand down, pushing his lower, so they rest in between her waist and hips. They sway slowly to the music, she presses closer, fingers moving up to play with the long hair at the base of the neck -- longer than last time. It’s not too bad -- easier to grab if she wants to. And she will, in time.

“You fancy yourself a man of literature, Dr. Reid? You ever read any Sherlock Holmes?” Her voice is smooth and soft. He nods, but says nothing. 

_ Good boy.  _ She repeats, to herself, a smirk curling the lips as they press together, near the shell of his ear. “You remind me a bit of him -- arrogant, far more intelligent than the  _ rabble  _ he surrounds himself with. Drug issues and a need to help people -- even if he denies it.” He twirls her out, then back close, sliding back into the steps from before, “Do you agree?”

He’s silent for a second, a hum, “I suppose.” There’s a note of curiosity and perhaps amusement -- mostly it’s non-committal.  He’s interested.  _ Hook. _

“Well, if Blondie is your Watson, then I’m your  **_Irene_ ** , Sherlock. The only woman smarter than you.” Her voice is a purr as they move, “I won, in the end. You got your mom, you got out of jail, you got Lindsay -- but I got your mind,” She curls even closer into his arms. 

His mind is everything to him. It’s his job, really. Without it, he’d be useless to the team. Such a pity he played for the good guys. He could make a great criminal. Intelligent, passionate, and well-versed, he could have been a legend. With her words they stop moving, for a moment, the music dying, and she just stays there, in his arms, pressing herself close, “and you can never get me out now. I will always be  _ there _ . And you will know it...I’ll always be there to remind you that you don’t always win -- not always. You don’t get away for free. You got out of jail -- but it’ll always be there.” 

The music begins again -- quicker this time, a tango, perhaps. He doesn’t have time to respond to her taunts, thrown into the beats of the dance. Spencer doesn’t know the steps. Almost pathetic -- the way he fumbles through the music. She laughs. But this is  **dull,** albeit amusing to her, but still boring. No, this isn’t what she wants from this night -- from this time together. She knows it isn’t what Spencer wants either. They want closure -- answers. They want to know. Something sparked there, when his hand went around her throat. He’d been overwhelmed by anger -- and he had liked it. Liked choking her. He’d never  _ admit  _ to it. But he knew. They really did deserve each other. 

“Do you need something, Cat?” He asks, when she stops them suddenly -- the music ending as soon as her steps stop, with a firm frown. He’s confused, but she relishes it. Catching him off guard at any time was a treat. She arches a brow, as if imploring him to go on. He does, with a bit of annoyance in his smooth tone, “You never told me our new game.” She tuts at his tone. He’s suspicious, reserved, but more so annoyed.  _ Line. _

“Always a bit  _ impatient _ . See if the impatience lasts through the night, Doctor.” The hitwoman smirks as she steps back from him, dark lashes half-lidded over darker eyes as she laughs. “The game is simple -- whoever cries out the other’s name first  _ loses _ . Any tactics are up for grabs, of course.” She hummed, moving closer to the doctor once more who had furrowed his brows, “Feigned ignorance doesn’t suit a man of your so called  **intelligence** .” She teases, her hand reaching up to curl around his tie once again, pulling him down a bit, so she can whisper -- breath hot in his ear, “Well?  _ The game is afoot _ .”

He lets her lead him through doors and down a hallway to a bedroom. She lets go, twirling around in the center, laughing. He looked confused, even more so as she drew closer once more. She pressed her lips to his, heated and deep and without warning. He’s experienced more than he appears to be, and even if he’s surprised, he kisses back. She bites his lip, and he gasps and she pushes him back a bit and it is quickly a fight. A battle. For dominance, to win. 

_ And sinker. _

Spencer kisses back just as hard, before pulling away. His lips move down her throat and she lets a noise -- a soft moan -- escape. He trails kisses down one side of her neck -- but her fingers grip into his long hair and tug -- not too hard. But it pulls his head back enough and he let’s out a noise she didn’t know he could make. It’s delicious -- a strangled sort of pleasured gasp. Red lips, smeared a bit from the kissing form a devilish smirk.  **_Hello weakness._ **

He shifts them, she’s trapped now, between his taller, broader body and the wall and his kisses continue. He doesn’t look like he’s as strong as he is -- lean muscle hidden by a tall frame and ill fitted clothes. His long, thin fingers slips behind her, tugging the zipper down and letting the gown easily fall away. She is just in her panties and he is still wearing his jacket. It’s delicious and she whimpered, a bit louder than she needed to. It was a pathetic noise that played into his hero complex. Damsels needing saving pulled at his heartstrings. And always a gentlemanly knight, he loosened the grip. Enough for her to topple him to the floor. Sitting on his chest, now, she smirks. They don’t speak, even as he rolls his eyes defiantly and she glares. She lets him sit up to take his top off -- and they both know he could easily turn them now, but he concedes it. A small loss meaning he takes off his jacket and shirt, both tossed into a pile with her dress. He’s still wearing his pants, but that’s alright, she could use it to her advantage.

She kisses his own neck, leaving marks that would be seen over his collar -- he was hers. Even if he tried to deny it, it was true. They were meant to be. 

The lean man is stronger than he looked, sure, but strength isn’t all one needs. Her actions seem to have offset him enough to distract. Still, he clearly was not as distracted as she thought and with an easy movement he rolls them -- pinning her smaller frame once more under him. He grasps her wrists in one hand, holding them easily as he dipped his head to kiss and suck one nipple, then the other. It feels nice, but the look on his face is better. Dominant. Possessive, perhaps, if she squints hard enough. 

His lips trail back to her neck, then to her lips. He moves away for a second to try and do -- something. She doesn’t see what. The moment is enough that she can free a pinned wrist enough to pull his hair, a startled noise of pleasure escaped his lips and the action lets her roll their bodies over again, her straddling his waist. Spencer is noticeably hard and she, herself, is a bit soaked, to be fair. She grinds her hips back against his clothed erection. 

He lets a loud, strangled moan out, though he looks a bit embarrassed at the noise he made. He doesn’t roll them over again, though. Not yet. She grinds her hips a few seconds longer this next time -- eliciting a whine. She smirked, her hands pulling them from his pocket -- cuffs. Hard, metal standard law enforcement issue. A smirk as she kisses him, her hands deftly securing his in the metal contraption. Spencer is easily rolled over and cuffed -- even  **_geniuses_ ** could be distracted by pleasurable stimuli -- they were  _ men _ after all. It was a bit easy though, and she had to wonder if he  _ wanted  _ her to do it. It wouldn’t surprise her if he did want the cuffs.

She rolls off him, and he moves to roll towards her, but she shakes her head, a smirk on her lips still, tutting, “You’ll ruin my fun.” She teased. “Maybe your own, too. Hm.” She stands and pulls him to his feet but the cuffs. He could fight her a bit more, but he is resigned to not fight for now, it seems. His eyes are still fiery hazel, but he lets her tug him towards the large bed, pushing him down backwards. 

He blinks, and lays there as she unbuckles his belt and undoes his pants enough to tug them off, discarding them with the rest of their clothes. He looks about ready to argue, but doesn’t.  _ Good boy.  _ She mentally congratulates him for a third time. Instead of getting on him, Cat slinks on the plush bed to lay beside him, her fingers trailing up and down his chest, over scars and bumps and ribs.

Pale fingers rub teasingly at the bulge in his underwear. White briefs, and it’s such a childish look for him, lips curling into a smirk as he is clearly trying to silence any noises he might make. Easy enough to solve, really. Fingers, once soft and teasing move up to his chest, digging in and dragging down, leaving red tracks in their wake. He lets out a yelp, and glares at her, clearly not having expected the sudden pain. She chuckles, “Remember that you  _ know  _ how to get out of this. Say my name,” Her fingers have begun to touch and tease and rub at his erection once more, “and we can solve your  **_problems_ ** sooner, not later.” 

He’s resilient, though, and though he does make soft, crooning noises of pleasure, he won’t come close to saying her name. She herself is wet and nearly dripping, she wants stimulation. Time to give him a chance. She has the key and the cuffs are easy to release, and she lets him rub at his wrists for a second, before they fall into a heated kiss, ending with her under him and his long fingers moving with skill she didn’t expect. They tug her panties off, discarding them in the pile of clothes. She’s naked now, and he’s not far off from naked. The fingers move to where she was recently freed of clothing. Spencer presses one long digit inside her with ease, his thumb pressing and rubbing against her clitoris easily. She sucks in her lip, with a moan of approval. Spurred by her noise, he adds a second finger, moving in and out tantalizingly slowly, his thumb moves easier and quicker though, flicking over the enlarged area and sending shivers up her spine.

Pale flesh against pale flesh, he leaves soft kisses on her neck and collarbone. He might want to hate her -- he might think he hated her -- but he was still gentle. Too gentle. Pleasurable, but soft. She reaches a hand up, pulling him into a deep, heated kiss, his hand stills and the other comes to cradle her head as they kiss. She barely realizes it until it happens, the kiss is broken and she’s being rolled over and the cuffs, previously on his wrists now lock around her dainty ones.  _ Smooth _ . And she tugs at them, but he rolls her back over, trapping her wrists under her. And he doesn’t seem like he intends to let her go like she did. She’s helpless and it makes her ache in some way, because she knows he wants to hurt her -- he wants to hurt her as bad as she’s hurt him. But he’s the white knight. The  _ hero _ . He wouldn’t hurt her. 

Boring.

She likes the feeling though, the gentleness he provides is a contrats to the metal cufffs. To his credit, his hands are very skilled and she can feel herself getting close and then -- empty. The fingers are all gone and she’s left, panting, annoyed and unfulfilled. He wipes the fingers on the sheet, and finally he pulls off his underwear, completing the pile of clothes. She eyes him, not secretly either. He’s not huge -- but decent and she likes the thought of it in her, but he doesn’t line it up, he sits on the bed, her wanting and needing. She almost calls to ask him what he thinks he’s doing. But stops. And she watches as he just strokes himself. Annoyance bubbles and her hands fumble with the cuffs and a stray bobby pin, managing to get the lock unlocked under her as she watches. He doesn’t touch her, kiss her, hold her in anyway, just stroking himself closer. And she gets it. He wants her to call his name -- beg him to come back and touch her. But she won’t.

Sneaky, clever and genius. Of course it would be, though. But, he’s in his own world, in his head as he strokes himself and she wonders if it’s her he thinks about now -- as he moves his hand along his length. The bed moves as she does. His eyes snap open, but it’s too late, she has him, pinned to the bed, near the edge, he’s alarmed and still trying to recover, and she dips off the side for a second returning to place cold metal against his chest. She seems his eyes widen and licks her lips.The gun is loaded -- they both can tell, and he looks torn between scared and turned on, and she likes that. Because he’ll be easier now -- he won’t try to take control. If he wanted to tease her, she’d show him. 

“New rules -- you move, or try to dominate, I shoot.” Her lips hiss, close to his ear, and he shivers, hazel eyes still on the gun, shifted to under his chin. A hand trails back to rub him, barely grazing his length with her fingers. He shifts to be able to get at it better, and her gun is now pointed at his crotch as she runs her hand up and down, pulling him back into the encroaching orgasm. As she watches his face contort with pleasure, delicious, needy noises escaping, she smirks. Men were all the same. She takes it into her mouth and as she feels him tensing, tightens a hand on his penis and watches his face turn painful and annoyed. Karma. She moves her lips back up to his neck. Both of them were needy, but neither would concede a win. “Say my name and it can end…” Her voice purred, a hand stroking him long and slow, teasing him. The gun is still pointed on him, but it’s become a secondary piece in this dance.

She draws him near his end and stops just before he can reach it once, twice, three more time. He’s sweaty, and she can see he’s breaking down, just wanting release. She moves herself to position over his cock, sliding herself slowly and easily down over him. “Sit up.” She she whispered, and he obeys, hands sliding around her waist to help keep her balance. “Say my name.” She whispered. “Say my name and I move and we can get both of ourselves off.”

He closes his eyes, his face is buried against her neck, pressing a kiss, soft and slow and gentle to the dip between her shoulder and neck. His hands wander, trailing small, almost lazy and teasing circles with his thumbs on her lower back. “Cat.” He whispers, and it’s a victory for them both. She tosses the gun aside, to hell with the safety issues of that, she knows he’ll be hers -- knows he’ll do what they both knew he would. Her hands aren’t gentle and she drags him in for a bruising kiss. His hands are too gentle and he lets her control the kiss.

He said her name, and it’s so nice. It’s nice to be wanted. Appreciated. And as much of a win for her it is also a win for him. Like she had done something. She needed him to say her name. It wasn’t about power like she wanted him to think, about settling scores, it was about love. It was nice to feel needed, wanted,  _ loved _ . Even if it was a fallacy, she couldn’t love, not really, she graved it. She craved the appreciation that came from it. He’s gentle with her and she lets him be. Let’s him move them, lay her back on the bed. He thrusts slower at first, picking up pace steadily. Always a gentleman, though, even if the thrusts are nice, he rubs her clit as they go, pacing that with his thrusts. His lips meet hers, again, and it’s nice, there’s a fire there, but he knows.

And she hates it. She hates how he  _ knows _ , she hates how he can always get to what she feels and drag it out. But her thoughts are silenced as she feels a wave building, and she orgasms under his movements and his skilled fingers, aftershocks still coursing her body as he keeps his pace, eventually pulling out and finishing himself in two strokes away from her. Such a gentleman. She sits up, and he sits away from her back against the headboard and knees curled up. She follows his eyes looking out the window, in thought. He looks handsome, and she moves, pulling the covers over his legs, curling into his side. For just a moment, she can pretend. Pretend she’s normal and sane and that maybe he  _ could _ actually love her. 

Things dissolve, though, and she’s back alone -- laying on the hard cement of the floor in the solitary confinement cell. She closes her eyes. 

“Maybe we are meant for each other.” She whispers to the void

Except they  _ weren’t _ . She wished they were. They could have ruled the world, her and him. But she wanted to break him, and maybe she had, she’d snapped him, but he’d reassembled. And she liked it -- liked that moment she made him lose himself in anger and how guilty he felt after. She stared at the ceiling and pretended they weren’t tears slipping out. She touched her stomach, softly. 

Before, the loneliness never felt so heavy.


End file.
